


Blind Devotion

by Utu



Series: Atlas Hands [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, Father/Son Incest, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Incest, M/M, One Shot, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27563479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Utu/pseuds/Utu
Summary: There was only an echoing, dissonant nothingness, wrapped around his insides like the tendrils of a monster under one’s bed. The monster wasn’t there anymore, but her reach transcended all distance and all time.
Relationships: Elijah Hawthorne/Luka Hawthorne, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Atlas Hands [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014750
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13





	Blind Devotion

**Author's Note:**

> **This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are either the products of my imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All rights reserved.**
> 
> ✯✯✯✯✯
> 
> Read the tags!  
> I hope you'll enjoy reading this. I'd highly appreciate it if you'd take a moment to leave a comment and/or a kudos afterward!

It pissed Elijah off. Well, it was maybe a bit too strong of a word, but when he was trying to forget all about _her_ , he didn’t need any unnecessary contact reminding him of what he’d lost. But his son was a frustratingly tactile being, and his fingers just kept treading closer every time he pushed his hands away. His breath was uncomfortably warm and damp on Elijah’s face. He was nineteen, for crying out loud, not a child anymore. It was clear that what Luka needed was comfort, but Elijah wasn’t keen on giving it to him. Not when Luka’s eyes were the same shade of green as _hers_ , and his auburn curls a few shades darker.

It was too much.

Elijah opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it, the cheap whiskey swilling in his stomach, as he glanced over to his son. His eyes were closed, one arm reached out, pale fingers clutching the fabric of Elijah’s t-shirt. His other arm he’d wrapped around himself, a half-assed sort of hug, hair glued to his forehead by nightmares.

Luka’s limbs twitched in his sleep, as Elijah turned to his side on the wide bed, desperate for comfort himself. He discarded the fact that he was naked, and that it was bordering on unnatural, as he grabbed his son by his arms and pulled him closer. He needed to hold him. To hell with everything else.

Somehow, Luka didn’t wake up. He dreamt restlessly, letting out a soft exhale as his body came into contact with his father’s, his eyelids fluttering, lashes casting spiderwebs against his cheeks.

He was a sweet, sweet boy. And Elijah knew he didn’t deserve to be smacked around. A twinge of guilt shot through him when he noticed how bruises had bloomed on his son’s arms, broken vessels branching downward. The shadows clearly showed the imprint of Elijah’s hands on the places where he’d shook Luka, livid after seeing the emptied bottles in the kitchen. He’d been screaming at his son, demanding an answer as to why his booze was gone.

But Luka had been trying to take care of him, and Elijah knew it. He also knew that they’d be homeless if not for his son working twelve-hour shifts at the gas station. Homeless, and starving.

Elijah’s drunken stupor was edging towards a hangover, his annoyance slowly melting away. The last remnants of his anger were extinguished in a heartbeat when Luka opened his eyes, tilting his head upward to catch his gaze, confusion flickering on his face.

“Are you all right?” he asked, slowly inching closer, his voice rough. And his eyes—wired to his heart—were so, so needy.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

Elijah could hear the desperation in his voice. “It’s okay,” he replied quietly. “Is… does… are these hurting?” he forced himself to ask because after all, he _did_ care about his son. He slid his fingers over the bruises, for the first time noticing the small, half-moon-shaped indents on his arms, left behind by his nails. “I… Sorry.” That five-letter word was much too much, yet at the same time too little, to really convey how horrible he felt.

“It wasn’t your fault. I overstepped,” Luka said flatly. It was the same phrase he’d been saying for several months now. Taking all the blame, all the time. He was too kind, too sweet—a total opposite of his horrible mother. The thought of _her_ ignited the familiar, agonizing anger in Elijah. His hands balled into fists, almost by accident.

“It’s your fault that _she_ left,” he hissed, unable to let go of the anger, and not willing to welcome the pain.

Luka flinched, almost as if he’d been hit, his eyes— _her_ eyes—tormented, bloodshot, and innocent.

Elijah didn’t plan on it. It just happened. He cupped Luka’s face, first wanting to strangle him, to hit him, to claw his whole fucking face off, but as Luka’s lips parted with a terrified gasp, his fingers stayed in place, splayed against his son’s face. Then, he leaned closer, catching the air from his mouth as he kissed him. He felt nothing like _her_. Tasted nothing like _her_. Luka’s lips were unfamiliar the same way a total strangers would’ve been. Still, it was better than nothing. Better than anything else, really.

Disgust wasn’t the first thing in Elijah’s mind, although it should’ve been, but love. He loved his son, yes, but not like this, not like—

His stomach tightened, as Luka pressed closer, his lips moving in an awkward rhythm, one hand holding him tightly by his shirt, beckoning him to keep going. If he didn’t want it, he surely didn’t show it.

“I love you,” Elijah muttered into his son’s mouth, eyes prickling with withheld fears and insecurities. His voice was heavy with guilt, but he couldn’t stop. Not when Luka’s hand slid behind his head, holding him in place, his fingers drawing abstract designs against his scalp, enticing and alluring as if begging for more.

It was too easy to blame everyone else.

“You’re never gonna leave me, right?” Elijah whispered into the dark, catching a glimpse of his son’s wide eyes, so close, yet so goddamn far, glimmering in the moonlight pouring in through the frosty window.

“No, dad, of course not,” Luka replied.

Elijah stared at him, looking for signs of deceit. He found none. Instead, he saw certainty in Luka’s eyes. _Sh_ e _’d_ never looked at him like that. Elijah had a hard time admitting to himself that maybe he was just jealous of his son. At nineteen, Elijah had already been a father for two years, studying, working, stretching himself thin to provide for a tiny, little human. Luka had none of that. He was free. He’d gone through adolescence mostly unscathed, with no burdens to carry. At least, that’s what Elijah kept telling himself. To justify his actions, perhaps.

To bury the memories and to forget the hate burning his veins like acid, he pushed himself upright, one hand finding its way between Luka’s legs, caressing his inner thigh, contemplating, hesitating. Hiking his hand upward, Elijah watched at his son rolled to his back, a soft sound—a mix of moan and a sigh—escaping his lips. He even sounded like _her_. Elijah shoved the thought aside, pulling down the pathetically small piece of fabric separating his hand from Luka’s cock, casting it aside with a sharp jerk of his hand. That movement, not any of the others, caused Luka to cower, and his shoulders to hike up in fear.

It was painful for Elijah. It hurt so fucking much, watching his son flinch at every sudden movement. When he beat him, he didn’t feel guilt, nor love, nor pain. There was only an echoing, dissonant nothingness, wrapped around his insides like the tendrils of a monster under one’s bed. The monster wasn’t there anymore, but her reach transcended all distance and all time.

“I love you,” Elijah said quietly, kneading his fingers into his son’s thigh, separating his legs with ease. “Do you love me?” he asked, tone edging on demanding, his hand all too eager to wrap around Luka’s soft cock, gently cradling it. The awfully velvety skin and soft flesh against his rough palm felt surreal.

“Of course, daddy.” Luka bit his tongue, as he felt a part of him regressing to childhood. He hadn’t even uttered the word daddy in years. In over ten, he assumed, not even remembering the last time anymore. “You know… I do everything for you because I—”

“Don’t you dare.” The words came out too harshly, a familiar sort of outburst preceding violence. “I don’t need you to lecture me, kid.” He tore his eyes away from Luka’s, holding his breath, counting down from ten like that meeting leader had told him.

“I wasn’t trying to lecture you.” A pitiful thing he was, trying to defend himself with a weak voice.

“Knock it off.”

“Sorry.”

“Forget it,” Elijah said. He threw his leg over his son’s, pushing his legs apart even more, just so he could accommodate himself to the last place he should’ve been in; between his son’s thighs.

The sound of wood grinding against wood startled Luka, and he snapped his head to the side, a wordless question flickering on his face. His father’s hand was inside the drawer of his nightstand, fumbling for something. Even in his drunken state, his movements were fluid. Or it could’ve just been the darkness shrouding the possible trembling of his hands, but Luka wasn’t sure which it was.

“Why the look?” Elijah asked, fishing out a bottle of lubricant. “I…” He knew he should ask, but he was terrified of the answer. He wanted, but did Luka? He still hadn’t said no, he hadn’t even questioned what was happening. Almost as if he already knew of his father’s desires, almost as if he could read minds. Or maybe it was just in his nature. He was too sweet of a boy. A man, Elijah corrected himself. Luka wasn’t a kid anymore.

The thoughts he usually kept locked away, were the kind only to be pulled out when he was drunk enough, and he needed a release. Then, and only then, would he recall the painful similarities between Luka and _her_ , the curve of his back, and the horizon of his body, and how waterdrops rode down his back after a shower. The thoughts, as vile and sickening as they were, were new. Those thoughts, like the snow outside their house, were the color of virgin cotton. Barely touched, barely explored.

Somewhere, between now and _her_ leaving, Elijah had begun to look at his son differently. Not with malicious intent, but with a love unlike he’d never experienced before. And it had scared him rotten. That’s when he’d—against everything he believed—taken a belt and driven it against Luka’s skin until the blood formed splatters on the wall.

He’d never been angry at Luka. He’d been angry at himself. Too scared to take it out on himself, he took to a bottle and a belt, just like his father had done before him.

“It’s okay.”

Luka’s words stirred Elijah from his thoughts; he hadn’t even realized he was frozen in place. “What?”

“I won’t tell anyone.” _I just wanna make you happy,_ he continued in his head, not daring to say it out loud, a part of him still terrified. The same part that was always terrified around his father.

“Yeah, ‘course you’re not gonna tell,” Elijah replied swiftly, wincing at the words, his fingers working the clear lubricant all over his hand. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. If something needed to be kept hidden, it wasn’t okay, right? Secrecy tainted everything, poisoned the air.

But it was too easy to blame the situation on _her_ and Luka.

Elijah watched as his son tensed, his whole body growing rigid as he started to push a well-lubed finger inside of him, his still-flaccid cock resting against his stomach. A sight Elijah thought he’d never see. His thoughts were heavy, and he struggled to keep hold of the knowledge that this—all of this—was wrong.

In the end, it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered.

Luka didn’t say no, when Elijah bent his finger, adding another one. He could’ve, but he didn’t. Both of them waited for him to say no, but the word never came.

“Don’t hurt me,” Luka whispered breathlessly, his chest heaving in a haphazard rhythm.

“I won’t,” Elijah replied. “I promise.” He chucked the lube aside, and it landed on the floor with a clank. Moving closer, and lifting Luka’s leg with his left hand, he positioned himself, impatient, needy, and desperate for comfort. Desperate to feel something else than emptiness.

Luka looked so much like _her_ , that despicable cunt. But he was nothing like _her_. He was loyal, ready to do anything for his father. It was scary. Admirable, wonderful, but extremely scary.

Elijah placed his hands on Luka’s hips, slowly easing his cock inside, pressing past the tight muscles. He slipped his hands against his son’s ass, feeling the partially-healed welts his belt had caused underneath his fingers. Luka let out a whimper, like a beaten dog, and wrapped his fingers around Elijah’s arms, his brow furrowed with bottled anticipation.

 _Let me be a replacement for mom_ , Luka thought, his eyes glued to his father’s. _Let me do everything. Lean on me. Give me everything you got. We’re just fine without her._

A horrible thought crossed Luka’s mind. What if his mom was going to come back? Yes, she had no idea where they lived, but what if she’d somehow find them, and tear them apart? What if, after all the shit his mom had done, his dad would still love her more?

“My little fox,” Elijah whispered, leaning closer. “Why do you cry?” He kissed his son, tracing his lips with his tongue.

“You haven’t used that name in—”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Elijah’s voice was soft, beckoning. Carefully, he jerked his hips forward, enticing a moan from his son. “I’m so sorry.” It was the truth. He dragged his hands against the old scars, bumps, and indents on his son’s ass and lower back, biting his tongue as not to cry.

He should’ve never used a belt. Or a fist.

But even now, when Luka was so malleable, so soft, and tender, he reminded Elijah of _her_. And it was nigh impossible not to get angry. Luka’s eyes were _hers_ , his hair was _hers_. Everything and nothing was the same as _hers_.

Elijah pulled back slowly and slammed in as hard as he could, causing his son to claw at his arms. Fuck if he was going to be screwed over by _her_ , even now. It wasn’t fair. He repeated the motion, quicker—way too quick—this time. Luka winced, his spine bending as he jerked forward, still crying, tears streaking his face, shimmering in the moonlight. But he was panting, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. The contrast was horrifying.

“Kiss me.”

It threw Elijah and swept away his anger. Their lips danced close to each other for a few, agonizing seconds before they kissed. Luka tasted like salt, and his tongue twitched nervously. Elijah began to roll his hips, hypnotized by the tightness enveloping his cock.

Twisted or not, wrong or not, a crime or not, Elijah couldn’t have cared less. It didn’t feel exactly _right_ , but that thought he shoved aside, like so many others before it. Surely, Luka would’ve said something if he didn’t want it.

As the uncomfortable pressure started to recede, so did Luka’s tears. He slackened his grip from his father’s arms, a heavy exhale releasing the tension from his muscles as Elijah pressed his forehead against his, their noses a hair’s breadth away.

Want was something Luka had never felt in his life, but right now, right here, he could feel a tug in the pit of his stomach. Maybe this was all meant to be. Maybe he was made for this purpose, and this purpose only.

Luka’s eyes widened when an unknown ache of want flooded him, his body bending underneath his father’s, as he tried to get closer. He flopped back against the mattress, and for the first time in a long time, Elijah smiled. Not an empty, broken smile, but a smile that reached his eyes.

Luka felt his cheeks flush, and he looked away, catching a glimpse of the reality waiting outside the window. Snow had begun to fall, large flakes dancing toward the ground, not knowing that by spring, they’d all be gone.

Any other night, any other moment, any other place, Luka would’ve screamed no, and he would’ve fought. But now, when it was dark, and he was starved for attention, starved for intimacy, everything felt somehow right.

Isn’t the desperate need for love the exact reason he’d slipped into his father’s bed, plagued by nightmares? He’d been slapped around, punished, and shoved away again and again, that many others most likely would’ve left. He couldn’t. He could never leave his father. Not now, not in a year, not when he’d stop drinking, not ever.

“What’re you thinking?” Elijah asked, lowering himself to lay a kiss on Luka’s nose, and pushed his cock inside to the hilt. For the first time in months, he felt whole. Like he wasn’t dead behind the eyes anymore. “You got that distant look in your eye again,” he continued, his voice a low murmur.

“You.”

“Me?”

“I… It doesn’t matter.” Luka forced a saccharine smile, holding his father’s gaze in his own. His whole body felt like a live wire, every muscle ready to react, his organs ready to burst. A feeling he’d only read about. He was about to come undone in a whole new way.

“I love you.”

“Say that again.”

Elijah chuckled, slowly moving his hips. He’d almost forgotten that he was inside Luka. He’d gotten lost again, inside his own head, inside his son’s eyes. _Her_ eyes.

No, Elijah snarled at himself. His eyes. The color may have been the same, but they were definitely his eyes. Yes. His eyes were the eyes he saw when he slept.

“I love you,” Elijah said, not even able to remember when was the last time he’d said those words to his own son. It had been several months, at least a year, if not more. He’d gone so long without acknowledging the love he felt for his son. His own flesh and blood.

“Again.”

“I love you.”

To prevent his son from begging for more, Elijah kissed him, sealing all his needs and wants inside his throat. There was no need to keep repeating the same thing over and over again, surely Luka knew how much his father loved him? And if not, well, then it would mean that Elijah had done something wrong.

It was so much easier to ignore all the things he’d done than to admit that he was at fault.

Luka’s kisses were soft, experimenting, and his tongue was still nervous, but growing more brazen with every passing second. As Elijah pulled back to fill his lungs with fresh air, Luka followed, willing to suffocate rather than break the kiss, strands of saliva still connecting him to his father. The sight made Elijah smile, and he couldn’t help but lean in for another kiss.

Luka had always been envious of his father’s dark-brown hair, and how it gently curled behind his ears, and on the nape of his neck. That’s where Luka put his hand, fingers playing with the delicate, freakishly soft strands of hair. He then slid his hands to cup his father’s face, holding his features in his palms, thumbs brushing over the cheekbones, caressing the whispers of wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, sending ripples of intense pleasure down Elijah’s spine.

It was cute, and heartbreaking, how Luka tensed as Elijah leaned away from him. He was so ready to break into a million pieces. Elijah grabbed his son’s hips, dipping his head, momentarily sickened by the situation, eyes glued to the point where their bodies stopped being two separate beings and became one.

But pleasure pushed everything else aside, as did love, and he started to fuck Luka, rutting into him. Even though he still hadn’t said no, Elijah felt as if he was lying there, legs spread like a common whore, only because he wanted to please. Only because he was so goddamn soft.

Wasn’t that softness the exact reason why Elijah loved his son? He’d always been gentle. A sissy, _she_ had hissed between her teeth, dragging Luka across the playground, the wing of a monarch between his delicate fingers, accidentally torn off when _she’d_ taken a fistful of his hair. Luka had cried about the butterfly and its wing for three days. Elijah couldn’t remember what he’d done, because he’d been working so hard. Too hard, he now knew.

It wasn’t about the climax. It wasn’t about sex.

Elijah couldn’t say what it was about.

Or why he was fucking his own son, desperately rutting into him, Luka’s eyes fixed on his, blinded by devotion.

The familiar pressure rose, sending cold shivers down Elijah’s legs, as he picked up the pace. He caught himself staring at Luka’s lips, and so he bent forward, diving tongue-first into the wet, warm mouth.

Luka threw his legs around his father, digging his heels into his thighs, locking him in place. He wished for the world outside the old, thin windows to disappear, and to give them an infinite amount of time. Now the love he knew to reside inside his father was laid bare, both of them flayed by their actions.

“I love you,” Elijah murmured, stealing a kiss before Luka could say anything. With a soft groan, he came, pressing into his son, and wrapping his arms around him, squeezing him tightly. His hips jerked, enticing small, precious moans and whimpers from Luka’s mouth.

Elijah was speechless. He pulled out of his son, forcing the cold air to seep between their sweat-drenched bodies, disgusted by the act, but so terribly delighted by it. All he wanted was to be alone, but his son, the frustratingly tactile being as he was, crawled after him, pressing his feverishly hot body way too close.

It was easier to give in, and so he cradled his son in his arms, as he curled into a fetal position. A need to protect rose within Elijah, a feeling he’d thought he had lost, and he pulled Luka as close as possible, wanting to touch all of his skin, every inch of his limbs. All of Elijah wanted all of him.

If only it were possible.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! <3


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